


Honey Hurry Up (It's So Hard To Be Good)

by MarcellaBianca, Quarra



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017, Choking, Consensual Kink, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Gentle Dominant, I probably overtagged this, Japanese Rope Bondage, Light Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shameless Smut, Shibari, Spanking, Steve Rogers Feels, Sub Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, Wet & Messy, sloppy blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:31:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11120907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaBianca/pseuds/MarcellaBianca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarra/pseuds/Quarra
Summary: “It’s going to feel good, then...I’ll do it.”“You will?”“I’d do anything for you. You know that.” Steve smiled, in that crooked, broken way, the way that made Bucky want to eat him alive. Or be eaten.





	Honey Hurry Up (It's So Hard To Be Good)

**Author's Note:**

> EEEEEE! I'm so excited to add my contribution to the Captain America Reverse Big Bang. So, so much thanks goes out to [Quarra](http://quarra.tumblr.com) for the incredible art that provided such huge inspiration for me. I couldn't be more thrilled to participate in this.
> 
> Also, thank you to the Slack for letting me bounce title ideas off of them! Whee!
> 
> Title is from "I'd Rather Be Blue Thinking Of You (Then Be Happy With Somebody Else)" by Barbra Streisand from Funny Girl.

Bucky’s been waiting for this all day.

Even during the mission, when his eyes were getting tired from focusing on the opponent (who the fuck lets loose toxic squid in lower Manhattan? Doc fuckin’ Ock, that’s who), this brain was elsewhere. It was here.

He’s bathed and oiled. The smell of honeysuckle blossoms. Nectar. Honey for the beehive. They own kneeling cushions but it's been a day and a half and Bucky wants to feel the solidity of the wood under his knees.  

His body lays in supplicant’s pose. Bucky once joked to Steve that it was like child’s pose in yoga, but calling it that would be really fucking creepy, so supplicant worked better. 

Ready. 

Willing. 

Able. 

Damn, Bucky’s already fuzzy and nothing’s really happened. Aside from the plug. And the oiling. And of course, doing all of that without being able to touch his cock. That’s a stipulation.  

Steve’s in the bathroom washing his face and hands. If Bucky knows Steve (and he does, better than his own skin) he’s going to want to have clean hands, clean face, clean mouth for this.  

The uniform stays on, per Bucky’s request. 

The room bends in the sunlight as the beams filter through the open window. If his head were up, Bucky could see the skyline of Manhattan from their floor at the Tower. They’ve got their own place in Brooklyn, of course, but after missions they prefer to crash here. It’s just easier. Plus, soundproof rooms. Little things. But all Bucky sees are the sunspots flaring on the polished wood floors.  

From his bowed, pliant position, Bucky can hear the bathroom door click open and shut, followed by the unmistakeable sound of Steve’s footfalls. Even though the air is rather warm in the room Bucky still shivers.

 Delight. Freedom.

 

* * *

 

_Bucky thought Steve’s poor head was going to pop off. “Why would you want me to do that?” he asked, eyes uncomprehending and guileless. For a brilliant man and soldier, Steve was sometimes so fucking dumb when it came to sex. Bucky’s never loved anyone better._

_“It feels good,” Bucky had said softly. They had fucked the night before, rough, but not any harder than a normal evening at home, when it had slipped from Bucky’s lips as easy as anything - “Put your hand on my throat.” Steve had stopped, horrified, and Bucky had immediately assured him that he was fine, they were fine. But the next morning, Bucky had brought it up again. Told him he wanted to try something different. Something a bit more...well. A bit_ more. _._  

_“I don’t want you to choke me to death or slap me or anything,” he clarified, when Steve still stared at him. “I want you to…” Bucky pushed the words around in his head. Sometimes his brain was still trying to reform out of the burned soup Hydra had turned it into._

_“You want me to take care of you. Like you took care of me, before. But...like this.”_

_Bucky’s eyes snapped to meet Steve’s, which now burned with a dark clarity. “Because when it’s me doing it, it feels good.”_

_That was why whenever someone made fun of Steve for being awkward at flirting Bucky wanted to drop-kick them into a helicopter. Steve knows the guts of him, knows how to move around in Bucky’s soul in a way that isn’t reckless._  

_“It’s going to feel good, then...I’ll do it.”_  

_“You will?”_  

_“I’d do anything for you. You know that.” Steve smiled, in that crooked, broken way, the way that made Bucky want to eat him alive. Or be eaten._  

_Steve knows this will heal him. Hydra tried to ransack the place. Steve is rearranging it to make it hospitable again. Make it into a home._  

_His home with Steve._

_Glitter shot down his spine._

_Bucky sighed like coming._  

_Steve covered Bucky’s hands with his own. No calluses thanks to the super serum. “I wish I had some kind of mark, or scar. Something to show how much I’ve given for my country,” he said quietly._  

_Bucky pressed a kiss to their intertwined hands. “It’s me,” he whispered. “I’m your scar.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky feels strong fingers lace through his untied, loose hair. “Hey there, beautiful,” Steve murmurs. His hand slips from Bucky’s head to his chin to tilt him up to meet his gaze. “You prepped for me? Got yourself all clean and ready?” 

Bucky, so overfull with emotion and arousal he can’t quite form words in any of the languages he knows, just nods his head up and down. The smile on Steve’s face spreads over Bucky’s soul like molasses. Thick. Slow. Delicious. Bucky wants to be consumed.  Buried alive.

“You’re incredible. Already pretty under, huh?” Steve muses. Another jerky nod, a little slower this time, like Bucky’s swimming through a pool of oil. Steve keeps that smile across his lips as he lets go of Bucky’s chin. “Didn’t touch yourself, right? Only opened up that pretty little hole for me?”

Yet a third nod, trying not to move anything but his head. The plug in his ass is thick, ribbed, dripping with water-based lube so Steve could ostensibly remove it and push in without any more prep. The thought makes Bucky imperceptibly shift his hips and with the movement, the plug’s ribbing catches - hot, wet, explosive sensation. It takes all of Bucky’s training from all of the lives he’s lived to not cry out.  

His cock is aching, beading, dripping. He’s so glad they don’t do cock rings or cages. Too confining. They make Bucky feel trapped. Besides, the idea that Bucky can withhold himself from coming without any outside constriction? That seems to turn Steve’s crank like nothing else. Even though it took a while for him to really get on board, Steve turns out to have a huge dominance kink.  

The sensations flood like river water over a levee. They are a consistent current through his body, centering in the space behind his tight, drawn-up balls. Still Bucky won’t move. He can be good. Oh _so_ good. Wants to be perfect for Steve. Steve deserves that.

 

* * *

 

_It hadn’t been easy or totally smooth. Bucky was open to a lot of stuff but one thing he quickly learned would not be okay was any type of name-calling or humiliation. One night, in the name of research, he and Steve had watched some dom/sub videos online and the instant the dom called the sub a “whore” Bucky had involuntarily curled up in a little ball, all 200 pounds of him in such a small space. Steve, noticing - because he notices everything, sometimes annoyingly so - had turned off the DVD and opened up his arms. Bucky had gone into them, burying his face in Steve’s chest. “You don’t want that, I gather?” Steve said, his voice slightly amused but in the way that told Bucky_ I will kill anyone who makes you feel like you aren’t less than completely and utterly perfect.

_“I could do without it,” he’d replied, and Steve had made a hum of agreement in the back of his throat before kissing the top of Bucky’s head._

_Hydra had never touched Bucky like that. Not sexually, anyway. Any time they came for him, he was a tool for killing, or shaping others to kill through violence or dehumanization. Bucky didn’t want that with Steve, and knew Steve wouldn’t give that to him. He wanted the painful, beautiful float. The slide of luminous sparkle through his veins, up his spine, between his legs. The wild in the storm, the calm of the eye. He wanted a type of pain that only led to bliss, and nothing that could ever destroy him or another._  

_More than anything - Bucky wanted to be told he was enough. Just perfectly enough. Just for Steve._

  

* * *

 

 

Steve rummages through the drawer, his back to Bucky. It allows Bucky to gaze upon the form of Steve’s body in that stealth suit. He’s so fucking happy that glorious sartorial masterpiece is back in rotation. The red, white, and blue one is fine - _tres patriotique_ \- but this one is more authoritative. Perfect for wearing during night missions. And for when Bucky wants to get fucked like he’s paying for it.

God bless the dry-cleaners, because Bucky can’t count on both hands and feet how many times he and Steve have come on that thing and it’s always come back as pristine as ever. FRIDAY never says a word.

When Steve turns around, coils of blue hemp in his hands, Bucky can’t help himself. He squirms. The plug slips slightly further inside. Christ. He’s so full. He wants to get stuffed from every end, up every orifice. He wants to invent new things for Steve to push his cock into. 

_Maybe not sounding, though. They looked that one up after they saw a link to it on a site, and Steve had taken one look at Bucky’s face and burst out laughing. “So, maybe not that one?” he giggled._  

_“I mean, whatever other people want to do. Personally, I don’t want anything going up my dick, thank you. Ow ow owww,” Bucky moaned, phantom pains stabbing him in the groin at the very thought of it._

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Steve chuckles. It lights Bucky up, lights up the fucking world. Strong hands get underneath Bucky’s arms and lift him to a kneeling position. “I’m going to tie your arms and legs like that picture you showed me, okay?” His voice is clear. Focused.

“Unf,” Bucky replies. 

Steve laughs and kisses him, brushing his lips against Bucky’s forehead. “Let me know if they’re too tight. Want to make sure you could get out of them. Don’t.” 

The ropes are very comfortable against Bucky’s skin - a request from Steve. Nothing that burns or leaves noticeable marks. Spankings are great. Fantastic. For both of them. But rope burns, or anything that leaves the skin raw...Steve can’t do it. Neither can Bucky, if he’s honest with himself. This whole experience is about being _safe._ Being cared for. Being set free. If pain, certain levels of pain, get introduced, Bucky feels the cold sting of the cryo chamber, the hard slap of a hand across his face. The loss of all safety. 

He loves the color, too. Blue. God fucking bless America. 

There's a small loop tied around his cock, just to remind him who he belongs to, but he knows Steve will take it off at any point if it becomes too much. 

Bucky is utterly pliant under Steve’s hands. Gentle, loving hands. Hands that grapple with him in the sparring ring, and throw pillows at him when Bucky says something gross during movie night. Hands that cup his face, when Steve tells Bucky he’s most beautiful thing Steve’s ever seen, with so much conviction Bucky is foolish enough to always believe it.

 “Look at you,” Steve murmurs, a breath away from Bucky’s neck as he finishes the last knot. He’s bound Bucky in a makeshift truss - arms crossed behind his back, ankles tied to hamstrings. Bucky is entirely at Steve’s mercy and wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Knowing Steve won’t hurt him, will liberate him, will only take care of him, brings tears to Bucky’s eyes. 

A loud sniff gives him away. 

“Hey…” Bucky feels a finger under his chin, bringing him back up again to meet Steve’s concerned gaze. “Color?”

“Green. So green.” Verdurous. Lush. Blooming. “Just...feeling so good, Steve. I swear.” 

Steve’s smiling again, the blush of a thousand sunrises. “I love you so much.” 

He lets his thumb slip into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky suckles it eagerly, tasting clean skin on the whorls and just a hint of the cucumber melon soap they use in the bathroom. Steve’s favorite. Bucky’s partial to the ones that smell like cookies.

Steve lets him suck for a few moments and then removes it, only to replace it with his index and middle fingers. More to suck on. More to wrap him up in. Sensation to ground him, but also to send him into fucking orbit. 

“So good for me, aren’t you?” Steve pushes the fingers in, deeper. Bucky lets himself choke on them just a little. Not so much that Steve will get worried and remove them, but enough to. let some strings of spit drip around those fingers and slip down to the floor. Steve likes it wet. So does Bucky. Dripping. 

“Fuck, baby,” Steve grates out. “Sucking on my fingers like that, giving a man all sorts of ideas. Wish it were something else?”

Bucky remains silent. Part of the game. He continues to suck.

 

* * *

 

_“I like begging for it.”_

_Steve worked his way around a mouthful of hamburger before he replied. “Huh.”_  

_“Is that bad?” Bucky felt an unease slide through his chest, glue and fire. Petrol that needed one little match to torch the entire place._  

_“No. It’s not bad.” Steve thought it over while Bucky stress-ate several French fries. “Just get concerned about that kind of thing when it comes to you.”_  

_“You don’t want to hurt me. I get it.”_

_Steve hesitated._  

_A cold knife went through Bucky. “Oh.”_

_“Bucky, it’s just…”_  

_“You think I’m going to turn into him."_  

_“No, no that’s not what I meant at all!” Steve put down his food and grabbed Bucky’s hands (when did they start shaking?). Bucky tried to stare down at the table, at the cherrywood that won’t reflect back the time when he shot his best friend and lover in the fucking_ guts _because he was so far under someone else’s orders._

_“I don’t want you to ever think I’m forcing you to do something, or denying you of anything you want,” Steve started. He didn’t make any move to push Bucky to look at him. Bucky let out a small noise from the back of his throat._  

_“I just want to get out of my own head, okay?” he said quietly. “I want to...I want to be reminded that I’m yours. I know I am and I know we’re equals,” he said, when the hitch in Steve’s breath told him he was going to interrupt. “But sometimes I’m going to need this, too. And it’s me asking for it. Consent and all that shit, right?”_

_“Damn right we’re equals. In everything.” Bucky felt Steve’s mouth brush along his brow._  

_“So sometimes I’m gonna want to beg you to do things to me,” he said, quick and almost embarrassed._

_“Okay,” Steve replied, the barest hint of a shake in his laugh._

 

* * *

 

“Use your words,” Steve says now. He removes his fingers from Bucky’s mouth. A string of saliva connects from Bucky’s lips to Steve’s skin. Bucky hopes against hope that Steve puts those fingers in his ass. But for right now it’ll have to wait.

“Please, Stevie,” he rasps. The game continues.

“Please, what?” There’s a gleam in Steve’s eye of love and appreciation even as his tone commands. It makes Bucky’s cock jump, a heat center between his legs. All the blood in his body, throbbing. The ropes get inexplicably tighter as his muscles expand. He’s never felt more alive.

“I want your cock in my mouth,” he slurs. “Wan’ let me suck it? I want it to hit the back of my throat, I want to choke on it.” Chants, incantations. 

“You do, huh?” Steve tries to sound nonchalant but Bucky knows him, knows that he’s fucking _wrecked_. Knows this gets him off as much as it does Bucky.

It’s all for him. All for Bucky.  

“I want you to fuck my face until you come down my fucking throat,” he gasps out. Bucky’s pretty sure subs aren’t supposed to be this bossy, but Steve’s always been a damn sucker for dirty talk.

It works; Steve makes a cut-off sound from deep in his chest. Then he pulls over the chair from the side table, close enough so Bucky doesn’t have to struggle forward or move too much at all to get his head in Steve’s lap. Steve’s still fully clothed in the stealth suit so Bucky just nuzzles the fabric around Steve’s crotch, and _fuck_ , the front of Steve’s pants are damp. That’s what Bucky’s done. That’s all Bucky’s handiwork.

 

* * *

 

 

_The first time Bucky got Steve’s cock in his mouth after he’d come out of the cold - it was a sacrament. Steve tasted of salvation, with no sin in the act as it permeated their room at the Tower. Steve had moaned into the skin of his arm, biting down to keep quiet; Bucky slid off his cock with a wet sound, an openmouthed kiss. “Don’t hold back,” he said into the soft skin of Steve’s thigh. “Never hold back.”_  

_So Steve had moaned, sobbed, sighed, scraped out obscenities. It had Bucky harder than he’d ever been in his long, strange, semi-interrupted life. Steve was coming apart for_ him.

_Steve’s come was hot and salty as it spurted past Bucky’s lips, and he drank it down - holy wine._

_Bucky was already going to hell. Might as well take the express train._

 

* * *

 

Steve’s inched the chair ever closer so Bucky can almost rest his head in Steve’s lap. Bucky’s heart is thudding so hard he can feel it throughout his body, everywhere the rope binds him. Steve could have gone even tighter with the cords but Bucky knows his lover. Knows he won’t do anything that could cut.

“Okay, baby,” Steve coos, unzipping his fly. Bucky licks his lips, absentminded, lost to sensation and the buzzing of want - the lazy bee at a honeycomb. 

Steve’s dick is released and it’s fucking _perfect._ Thick, with a little curve to the top of it. When he’s flat on his back and Bucky’s fucking down into him, it lies flat and heavy against his stomach. When he comes the first time - because Steve always comes more than once, thanks super serum - it’s a sight to see. It’s Bucky’s drug. 

Not for the first time Bucky is super thankful that the serum eradicated any and all major diseases, sexual or non. Of course they still get tested, both for their own peace of mind and as a public service (Steve, in full Cap regalia, has done several videos on the importance of physical health, much to the amusement of the team and to Bucky). Plus, Bucky’s always been a worry-wart when it comes to Steve. Too many nightmare years of congested lungs and coughing fits that Bucky feared would lead to TB and sanitariums and a pine box. 

They’re both clean, is the point. And thank God. Because after Bucky’s done sucking Steve off until he comes down Bucky’s throat, he wants Steve to come in his ass. Wants it to drip down in pearlescent rivulets down his thighs. And maybe, just maybe, if he’s very, very good, Bucky will feel the hot pressure of Steve’s tongue licking him clean. They've made that a part of the aftercare, much to their mutual delight - nothing makes Bucky feel more loved than Steve cleaning him up, words of love falling like diamonds, cutting the air, making it anew.  

The plug shifts again as Bucky pitches forward towards his gift. First, kitten licks around the thick head. A gust of air escapes Steve’s chest like he’s been punched, with a bit of a whine attached. A breathy moan. Bucky wants that dick down his throat but he’s also a teasing little shit, so he’s gonna draw it out. He likes to push it so Steve will punish him a little bit. Gentle licks to the frenulum before closing his mouth around the glans. The room fills with sounds of soft sucking and Steve’s heavy breathing. 

Fingers, strong and smooth, card Bucky’s hair out of his face. The cold of Steve's boot settles on his thigh, to keep him firmly locked in. “Jesus, look at you,” Steve whispers. He continues to pet Bucky’s hair as Bucky drags his tongue up and down the underside of Steve’s perfect, should-be-illegal dick.

And this, _this_ is why Bucky wants to get tied up, wants to get choked on Steve’s dick, wants to get pushed down and fucked until the floorboards crack. 

It’s because when he’s got Steve like this, Steve can’t stop what comes out of his mouth. 

“Look at you, my beautiful, beautiful Bucky - being so good for me - so perfect - you want to be right here, don’t you? Right here with me, by my side, kneeling for me.” Still the same smooth pressure of his hand in Bucky’s hair, stroking it like he’s Steve’s pet. 

_Only for you, forever_ , Bucky wants to scream, looking deep into Steve's eyes, but he’s got a mouth full of cock. It must show on his face anyway, because Steve shakes out a laugh. “You can talk, babe!” he says, tugging on Bucky’s hair. 

Through the gluey dreamscape Bucky manages to thickly respond, “Busy,” and then he’s swallowing Steve down to the fucking _root_. The hand petting Steve’s hair grips down which only turns Bucky on even more but he can’t come. Won’t come. He wants to hold it until Steve tells him he can.

 

* * *

 

 

_“It’s like I don’t come unless you tell me to. Everything I am belongs to you. Like...I’m yours in every way imaginable.”_

_Bucky’s stomach doubled up into Windsor knots. Maybe this was too much. Maybe they could be okay with just the stuff they talked about before like tying each other up and stuff that was fun oh good lord -_  

_“So you wouldn’t want to come until I say you can?” Steve met Bucky’s gaze and Bucky nearly spat out his coffee: his partner’s eyes were blue-black, the pupils blown out so far that everything sparkled like sunstone. Mysterious and dark._  

_Steve wasn’t weirded out. Steve was_ turned on.

_“You like that idea, huh?” Bucky asked, a hush._

_“Yeah. Yeah I do.”_

  _They_ _tried it out that night. Bucky with his legs thrown up over Steve’s shoulders, voice urging Steve to fuck him harder, that he could take it, until he was finally begging Steve to let him come. It was only after Steve had come twice that he looked down at Bucky and nodded, giving permission, and Bucky’s head exploded, his consciousness splintering into pure light._

_Afterward, Steve had gotten up to dispose of the condom. Bucky had sat, quiet, then he felt his body start to shake. He was tumbling down a wide, impenetrable chasm. Cold. Cold. Cryogenic._  

_He barely heard Steve come back, climb up into the bed, and hold him tight. What popped his descent into darkness was a glass of water Steve’s murmured pleas to get him to wake up._  

_The next morning they learned about subdrop and aftercare._

 

* * *

 

“Keep going - oh -”

Steve arches up. His cock slides ever further down Bucky’s throat. So far gone, so under, his lips are moving on autopilot. But he vaguely hears Steve gut out “Color?” and Bucky blinks once. _Green_ for when he can’t speak.

Permission granted.

Steve fucks up into Bucky’s mouth, hips pistoning back and forth. It’s a delicate balancing act for Bucky so he doesn’t fall down, but thank goodness he’s been sucking Steve’s dick since he was seventeen, so he’s had plenty of practice.  

“Close-” 

That just makes Bucky hollow his cheeks, suck Steve down harder. If he had his hands free, he would twist them around the base of Steve’s cock like he likes. Sucking the same guy’s cock for so long affords a man lots of fun tricks.  

He chokes a little bit, saliva slicking the way, and he loves it, he fucking _lives_ for this shit. Steve’s dick is meant to be in his mouth, up his ass, on any part of Bucky’s body. And Bucky is good. He's so good.

When Steve stiffens and spills into Bucky’s throat Bucky drinks it down like it’s the last time. He’s learning to live in the moment thanks to therapy, and that means making everything sacred. This, this gift, he cherishes more than anything. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing.” Steve’s laughter tenses him up, slides his still-firm cock out of Bucky’s mouth. He won’t go down for a while yet, Bucky knows. Steve leans down, kisses him, deep and filthy, and Bucky lets the come he hasn’t swallowed slide onto Steve’s tongue. Bucky may have his dirty requests, but so does Steve, and the first time he pulled Bucky to him to kiss the come out of Bucky’s still-shining mouth it sent a shockwave to the ends of Bucky’s hair.

“Fuck me please,” he says, throat raw. Steve will make him honeyed tea later, with a little bit of ginger.

“Tied up? Loose?” 

“Your choice. Just need you inside me.”

And fuck, the look Steve gives him. He grabs a pillow from their bed, guides Bucky’s face down on it so his cheek is resting on the soft surface. The ropes on his legs loosen, then let go, so he can hitch up on his knees without getting too twisted up. There’s still a burning stretch in his right arm but nothing he can’t handle. If it really hurt, the cybernetic arm could cut through it and Steve wouldn’t have a problem. Hell, that thing’s ripped helicopter doors off their hinges. 

“Oh god - ah!” Bucky hitches when Steve eases the plug out of him, then yelps when a firm hand streaks across his ass in a blaze of lightning pain. No permanent marks, of course, but handprints? Handprints are _awesome._

The pressure of soft lips mark up the notches in Bucky’s spine, little pinpoints of sensation. Enough so Bucky’s shaking from both want and the urge to keep his hips hiked up so Steve can have easy access. There’s barely any time to react before that thick, glorious cock is pushing past the rim of Bucky’s hole. 

“Fuck - you’re already so loose, so wet,” Steve hisses. “Can just put it right in. It's like you're a dame, can just stick it in and fuck into you.”

Bucky lets out a long, lingering moan as he’s filled up, stuffed full with Steve. His whole body relaxes. Completed.

It’s not until Steve is fully bottomed out and there’s the tight pull of fabric touching Bucky’s ass that it hits him - _Steve hasn’t taken the suit off yet._  

“Yeah,” Steve says, and Bucky doesn’t have to look at him to know there’s a smile on that punk bastard’s face. “Gonna fuck you like this, you all naked and spread out for me, in the suit, and you’ll only come when I tell you to. So you know who you belong to.” 

And that’s it.

Bucky tried to be good. Tried so, so hard. But that statement. That immovable promise, that feeling of _belonging_ … 

He comes with a strangled, shocked cry, spilling over his thighs and the floor below him. Completely untouched. Spurred entirely by only the idea of belonging to Steve. 

There are five seconds of silence, punctuated only by Bucky’s gasps and Steve’s surprised, heaving breaths. 

“Holy -” Steve starts. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Bucky doesn’t mean for it to come out like a whimper, but it does. His eyes fill, against everything telling him otherwise. “I’m sorry.” 

“No - fuck - can I -” Steve sounds horrified. There’s a tug on the ropes holding Bucky’s arms in place. Helpless, he nods. Instantly the knots come undone, Steve curls his arms underneath Bucky’s body so he’s got him in a close hold, and Steve’s just holding him. They sit there like that for a few minutes until Bucky’s got his breathing back under control. “Think you can make it to the bed?” Steve whispers. 

“Yeah...help me?” Bucky asks. 

“Always.”

They get on the bed, Bucky lying prone while Steve undresses - Bucky manages to raise an eyebrow because _wooooooof_ , that body - and then comes to lay alongside him, instantly cuddling Bucky close to that stone chest, close to that heart. “Why are you sorry, baby?” he asks, brushing the hair out of Bucky’s eyes. 

“I...I didn’t come when you told me to. I couldn’t hold it in. I ruined it.” 

Bucky bites his lip. Looks away from Steve for what seems like an hour. When he looks back, Steve’s face is morphing from vaguely amused to horrified to a mixture of the two. 

“You think you _ruined_ it by _coming_?”

“I - um.” Shame floods Bucky’s body. Well, if he didn’t ruin it before, he definitely ruined it now. 

“Hey -” Steve kisses him, so soft, a gentle press of his lips, and Bucky wants to crawl inside of it, pay rent and utilities on it. “There’s absolutely nothing you could do that would ruin sex with you. Watching you come is a _gift_.” Another kiss. “You hear me?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky hums against Steve’s mouth, his heartbeat slowing back down to a normal pace and the anxiety, the bone-crunching tension, replaced by something infinitely more interesting: Steve’s naked. His chest is hot against Bucky’s, and Bucky’s hands are free now. Slowly, he uses his flesh and bone hand to trace a heart over Steve’s left pec. “Yeah.” 

Fuck, he loves him. Has loved him since that first strangled moment when they couldn’t hold it in any longer and crushed their lips together; the first time Steve got down on his knees for Bucky, like he was something glorious to behold. The first time they fucked after Project Rebirth, after Azzano, after Bucky finally figured out that Steve’s body had changed but the man inside hadn’t. When Bucky came out of the cold. When Bucky _remembered_ and they spent the night holding each other, hands pressed to each other's hearts.  

Steve knows the bones of him, and has loved him through it all.  

Bucky will never understand how he got so lucky and honestly, he’ll never try to.

“You want to just hang out? We don’t have to keep going. We both got off. That’s the whole point, right? I’m good with stopping for now.” Steve rubs Bucky’s back, but his eyes keep focused on Bucky’s hand and where it’s going, down to the patch of skin between his navel and neatly trimmed pubic hair.

“I’m not.” Bucky’s throat is still a little sore, but he’s fine with it. He massages Steve’s lower abdomen. “You know this is my favorite part of you, right?” 

“Really?” Steve asks, trying to sound demure but failing miserably because he’s going bright fucking red. 

“Yeah. Because you know I could touch you here…” Bucky circles Steve’s belly button; Steve laughs brokenly, “Or, I could touch you here…” a swirl of Bucky’s fingers against the indentation along Steve’s hip (someone told him once it was called an Adonis belt, which is pretty fucking apt).

“Or…” Bucky slips his hand down, spiderwalking fingers along Steve’s cock. “Fuck, you’re still all slick,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, thrusting up slightly into Bucky’s touch. “You might have had something to do with that.”

“Yeah? Maybe?” Bucky allows his fingers to curl around Steve’s length. “Please, Steve.”

“Please what?” The light is still there in Steve’s eyes, but the voice is sliding back into that authoritarian, Dominant role. A voice different from his Captain America tone. It’s a tone he reserves only for these moments. Only for Bucky. 

So Bucky gives him what he wants. “Please. Sir.”

He’s flipped over onto his stomach with a loud flump.

No time to get tied up again, they both want it so bad they’re shaking, so Bucky just reaches out to grab the headboard. He could break it. He won’t. 

His body tightens, then relaxes, when the first drops of cold lube are pushed inside him. His back cants up, trying to get more of Steve’s fingers, so long and thick but no replacement for what's to come. “Give it to me, please.” Not above begging again. “Stevie, Stevie, Stevie.” An incantation.

“I’m not about to deny such pretty begging.” He’s pretty open and loose still, so Steve enters Bucky in one deep push, burying himself to the absolute root. The sudden fullness has Bucky screaming before Steve even starts to thrust, and once that happens, it’s all Bucky can do to not snapt the headboard into kindling.

“Fuck - so good,” Steve moans, then pounds harder.  A torturous pace. Bucky grinds himself against the sheets, the friction against his cock compounded by the back and forth of his ass on Steve’s cock, fucking himself on it.  

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to stop making any coherent words, in English or the variant languages he’s picked up along the years - Steve’s cock is so big, so hot inside of him, hitting him at the right angle every single time, filling every space that was vacant for so fucking long. Tears stream down his face but not from sadness. They’re just there. The air fills with the sounds of overwhelmed moaning, punctuated by cries of “Oh, fuck,” and the squeak of the bedsprings. 

Steve goes even harder, hips snapping at a rhythm that would probably kill a regular human, but Bucky’s no human, and thank Christ for that. They’ve never been able to hold back, especially now when they can heal quick. “Close,” he grunts. 

“Pull out-” Bucky cries out. “Come - come on me - please-” _Mark me. Make me yours. Make my body your canvas. Make me your living art. Make me the thing you paint._

Steve flips Bucky over, practiced and smooth, like he’s taking down an opponent - takes his cock in hand - a few strokes - 

And then - 

Hot pulses of white stream on to Bucky’s stomach as Steve jerks and hunches over, overwhelmed with the force of his own orgasm - and still Bucky waits.

He can wait this time.

Until Steve shoves his fingers into Bucky’s mouth, soaks them up, and pushes three inside of Bucky with a force that makes Bucky howl with delight.

“Come for me, baby,” Steve exhorts, twisting his fingers, curling them up into the hot, loose curves of Bucky's ass, knowing every single particle of Bucky like he was built to make him come, fingers grazing against the bundle of nerves -

Pure, incandescent thunder and lightning and all that cliched shit. It’s a hell of an orgasm, is what it is. At least, Bucky thinks it is. He’s too busy screaming bloody murder to really take stock of all the orgasms he’s had at Steve’s mercy to calculate where it stands on the list of “Best Fucks of Bucky Barnes’s Life.” It’s up there, though. Definitely up there.

 

* * *

 

He blinks awake to fresh bedsheets and a clean torso. Steve’s wiped him off, changed the sheets. Bucky wasn’t necessarily asleep, or passed out. He was just in the haze of subspace still, and he trusts Steve, trusts that Steve would never do anything to him in that state that would compromise his safety. Knowing him, Steve probably put Bucky in a bunch of blankets on their window seat and watched him with an eagle eye while he changed the bedding, then put him right back on the bed. Bucky’s intuition is proved correct when he tries to move and finds himself completely swaddled by sheets and quilts. His hands are sticking out of the mass of white and cream; Steve’s rubbing aloe into the parts of Bucky’s skin that got snagged by the rope. He’s humming something under his breath.

“Is that Gaelic, Stevie?” he asks, still a bit hazy, voice positively shredded.

Steve Rogers, who minutes ago had come all over Bucky’s chest and face, has the fucking nerve to blush. “Yeah.”

Bucky’s parents didn’t teach him or his sister any Irish. They wanted to be American, full stop, much to the chagrin of Bucky’s gram, who came over on the boat and made sure her daughter Winifred knew the language of the old country. But that wasn’t to be for the Barnes household. English only at home. But during his time with Hydra, Bucky had picked it up, so it was almost comforting to hear Steve speak it. Reminded him of when Sarah Rogers used to holler down the street for Steve to get home after playing stickball until the sun set. 

_Bímse buan ar buairt gach ló,_   
_Ag caoi go crua is ag tuar na ndeor_   
_Mar scaoileadh uaim an buachaill beo_   
_Is ná ríomhtar tuairisc uaidh, mo bhrón._   
_’Sé mo laoch mo ghille mear_   
_’Sé mo Shaesar, ghille mear,_   
_Ní fhuaras féin aon tsuan ná séan,_   
_Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo ghille mear._   
_Ní haoibhinn cuach ba suairc ar neoin,_   
_Táid fíorchoin uaisle ar uatha spóirt,_   
_Táid saoithe 's suadha i mbuairt 's i mbrón_   
_Ó scaoileadh uainn an buachaill beo_   
_’Sé mo laoch mo ghille mear_   
_’Sé mo Shaesar, ghille mear,_   
_Ní fhuaras féin aon tsuan ná séan,_   
Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo ghille mear.*

“Ah, you could’ve picked a more depressing song, Jesus Christ,” Bucky moans, voice thick like he’s coming out of deep sleep. He's still sore, but he thinks of it as a type of medal. Nobody takes a dick like Bucky Barnes. Unless it's Steve. Steve takes a dick better than anybody.

Steve grins, then pulls the blankets over the both of them some more. A bottle of water appears under Bucky’s nose. “Drink this,” he says. “You need anything else?”

“Yeah.” Bucky pitches his voice soft.

“What?”

“An entire pizza.”

Steve starts, then laughs, breaking and healing Bucky’s heart. “FRIDAY, did you hear that?” he calls to the ceiling.

“Yes, Captain Rogers. I have taken also taken the liberty of shutting down all video and audio surveillance on your floor for the evening.”

“Thank fuck, Tony would've had a heart attack or make fun of us for weeks,” Bucky says, voice muffled from nuzzling into Steve’s chest. Steve strokes his shoulders.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Voice now a far cry from the Dominant presence of earlier. Steve now sounds unsure. So fragile. Like he's handling a piece of Venetian glass.

“Working on it,” Bucky says, bluffing a little.

Steve’s eyes are dead serious. “You are. You’re perfect. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

And it’s true what Bucky says. He is working on it. He’s much, much better than he was when he first came back to the fold, came back to Steve. But then things can go wrong. Stuff can break. People can, too. But Steve...Steve’s always been there. Has always believed in him.

So he sits, and Steve strokes his hair, and slowly comes back to center. Back to middle ground, with Steve as his trusting anchor.

“You’re everything,” he mumbles into the skin of Steve’s neck, when he can speak again.

“You know you’re everything right back, right?” Steve’s voice is unsure.

Bucky feels it. Feels it in his guts and his muscles and his _plasma_. “I do.”

 

* * *

 

 

One year later, he says it again, but this time he’s in a tux, surrounded by their new family, and with Steve gazing back at him like he’s the only person in the world. Tony totally cries. Thor makes some proclamations about how love is the reason and the way. There may have been a catfight over who got Sam as best man, so they just had him pull double duty.

There are rings exchanged, and promises of forever.

And a brand new set of ropes, gold and white, hanging in their closet.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay.
> 
> 1\. The inspiration for the shibari on my end of the deal came from [The Duchy](http://www.theduchy.com) and I specifically used the Takate Kote and Frog Tie method for visual, because that looked the most like what Quarra had drawn.
> 
> 2\. I love BDSM but sometimes I wish that they would take into account the idea that...uh...the human body sometimes cannot control their arousal or orgasm, despite their best intentions. So how would a dom and a sub react in that situation? I legit have not read a single fic that deals with this in the Stucky fandom, so I figured I should supply it! Be what you want to see in the world, eh?
> 
> 3\. The song Steve sings in English:  
> "My dashing darling is my hero  
> My dashing darling is my Caesar  
> I have had neither sleep nor good fortune  
> Since my dashing darling went far away  
> I am perpetually worried every day  
> Wailing heavily and shedding tears  
> Since my lively boy was released from me  
> And there is no word of him, alas  
> The pleasure of the cheerful cuckoo at noon is gone  
> The affable nobility are not bothered with sport  
> The learned and the cultured are worried and sad  
> Since the lively lad was taken from me  
> My dashing darling is my hero  
> My dashing darling is my Caesar  
> I have had neither sleep nor good fortune  
> Since my dashing darling went far away"


End file.
